


Scrubbing Party (how to say goodbye)

by AwkwardDuckProducktions



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: CC-2224 | Cody Needs a Hug, Cody is a terrible but effective therapist, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fox is going grey and cody is part of the reason, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I'm what some have called 'an evil writer', Minor Character Death, Obi-wan is a little shit, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, and this only proves it, could be read as pre-cody/obi-wan, dehumanization but not in a fun way that you're thinking of, my brain 24/7: how can we make this sadder?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardDuckProducktions/pseuds/AwkwardDuckProducktions
Summary: It shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did that Commander Cody managed to find a worse punishment than reconditioning.What maybe surprised him more was when his commander pulled out his own brush and got to work.And what surprised him the most was when he started to do the same.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi, CT-2224 | Cody & Original Character(s)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 144





	Scrubbing Party (how to say goodbye)

The battle could have been worse.

That was the phrase everyone of the 212th had been taught to say after long battles that faced longer nights. Heavy casualties were never easy to deal with, not on the battlefield at least. The higher up the reports went, the less they were alive. The more they were numbers and statistics and credits they become. It did not matter what happened on the field to the Senate. Just as long as they followed the rules and sometimes died prettily for the cause, it did not matter what happened to them. A sad fact Cody used to his advantage.

“Knockout!” No one dared look up at the Marshal Commander when he marched into the medbay. Just as you don’t look at a raging bantha in the eye, you dare not look at Commander Cody when he was angry. “Knockout!” He shouted again, barrelling his way down the rows of beds and scared troopers. The young medic in question, DR-66602, buried his nose in the datapad, hoping the low lights and the sheer amount of brothers around might protect him from discovery.

It did not.

When he felt a hand rest on the back of his neck, Knockout knew he had been made. The hand guided him away from where he stood on out, a growl from the commander gave him clearance to steal the young medic. It wasn't that it was a secret why the commander was angry, everyone had seen what Knockout did. The head medic, Stitches, knew better than to stop this train. Even when panic struck Knockout's face, there was nothing Stitches could- or wanted to- do to save him.

Led by the almost painful grip on his neck, Knockout was dragged through the camp by Commander Cody like a naughty tooka. Dirt and sweat from his thick hair dripped down into his eyes, blurring his vision. He had to trust his commander not to lead him into fire.

Well...

Knockout knew better than to say it out loud, but leading men into fire was- as he had seen in his short time deployed- Commander Cody's plan usually. Some of it was also their general's idea, but the commander still has a pretty long track record under his utility belt. So maybe Knockout wouldn't say it outloud, then again, the farther they walked, the less eyes he felt. The warmth of the fires lit left him shivering in the night. Still the hand on his neck held him tight. Even as it led him to what he could only suspect was his death.

The hand on his neck threw him forward, giving the poor shiny a chance to clear his eyes. What he saw made his anxieties look like daydreams.

Armor.

Piles of armor from that day's battle.

And the commander pushed him a little as he walked by, not saying a word when he sat down and lit the small lantern. Knockout thought about running, about testing his CO's shooting skill of a moving target, until the same angry, almost hurt eyes locked on his own.

"Sit."

Ever the obedient soldier, Knockout sat on the other side of the lantern. Turned just a tiny bit so his periphery wouldn't be filled with the grim sight. He couldn't put it by his commander to kill him here for ease. So when the rough brush landed on his lap, Knockout may have screamed. Seconds passed before his brain caught up with his senses.

"You're not here to just sit." Commander Cody spoke low as if the dead were listening. "You're here to scrub."

_What?_

"What?" His voice finally came to him, seeking clarity in his commander's eyes.

"We have to get off all the paint." Knockout couldn't but to notice the effort put in trying to keep his voice from cracking. It shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did that Commander Cody managed to find a worse punishment than reconditioning.

What maybe surprised him more was when his commander pulled out his own brush and got to work.

And what surprised him the most was when he started to do the same.

  
  


He doesn't know how much time had passed, his helmet was left back at the camp- not as far as he originally thought though he couldn't look long before the commander would remind him of his job. Punishment was punishment, it needed to be done. Though for his action on the field today, Knockout would have preferred death over this. Scrubbing the paint off of armor felt like he was driving a saber through the brother it had once belonged to and himself over and over again. He had been a part of painting parties, a joyous time in the hell they were created for. His own armor had a five point star in the corner in traditional 212th yellow. An agreed upon icon with his batchmates to represent the Hydrogen Squadron.

An icon the armor in the young medic's hands had as well.

Knockout wished he had the same clarity he did when he walked towards the live bomb earlier that day. To steal the blaster on his commander's hip or to run. But all he could do was stare at the star.

_"We'll burn brighter than anyone has before." Greasestain had said. "We will see the end of this war together."_

No helmet meant no hiding the tears when they fell. The awful gasping sobs that wrecked his will as he curled around the armor. Knockout didn't want to cry in front of anyone- his commander especially- but here he was. Being told to remove his fallen batchmate's paint from armor that didn't protect him. Here he was, curled around the last bit of him like it could bring Greasestain back. 

"Knockout..."

" _Kark_ you." The young medic forced out. His commander huffed at his cursing, setting his own brush aside.

"Do you know what _Ni cu’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_ means?"

Knockout did, and he knew Commander Cody knew he knew. It came right after they were taught to say "the battle could have been worse." So he didn't know why his Commander would ask, and remained silent.

"It translates into Basic as 'I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.'"

"He's not eternal, he's dead." Knockout pointed out. He could feel Commander Cody's eyes on him. Fearing his sadness more than his rage Knockout refused to check.

"He's eternal as long as you're alive." The young medic did not like this side of Cody, he decided. And he was pretty certain Cody didn't like it either. "Our armor gets recycled and in the process, our fallen lose their last remaining piece of identity. Of proof that they were here." His words felt like worn leather, still might be the difference between life and death despite its wear and tear. "Except in those that carry their memory."

Knockout remained silent, not trusting himself not to burst into tears again. 

"True, there's no guarantee you'll make it to the end of the war." Cody continued. "But you have to try. Otherwise you risk all of your batchmates forgotten."

"You shouldn't have stopped me." Even in his defiance, Knockout couldn't bear to meet his commander's gaze.

"You know I couldn't just let you die." 

"You didn't stop Greasestain." 

"He was already too far away by the time I saw him." Regret. Knockout was sure there was regret in his voice.

"I don't want this burden." Knockout whispered, despite holding the armor closer to his own. "I don't want to remember him."

"And your batchmates don't want that burden as well. The whole battalion doesn't want it, but we carry it anyways." Bitter words Cody has told himself too many times, Knockout realized. "The manufacturers could remove the paint in their facilities but they task us because they know we have been becoming too individual and need the reminder of our place. And in a way, they're right. It is _just paint_ ." He spat the words out like poisoned blood. "Because what makes us special is our own _kriffing_ selves and the memories we make, good and bad. Countless worlds bear our mark of us existing which is more than most sentients can say. We have undeniably been alive."

Knockout wanted to argue, wanted to say he didn't feel alive, not anymore. But in his commander's words, he found his own anger. And with anger came the awful reassurance that he too was undeniably alive.

"And we remember those who aren't with us as a way to say 'our place in the galaxy is eternal.'" A hand laid gently on his shoulder. It weighed as much as all the wreckage their lives had caused by the command of faroff so called leaders. "I can't always be there to stop you from being a _di'kut_ , so I hope you will remember this next time you get the feeling." He whispered, as this was knowledge that needed to be protected. "We have to stay alive for them." And with that, the commander pressed his forehead against Knockout's own. In the quiet of the night, they said the words together. 

_Ni cu’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_

"Greasestain."

"Greasestain." Tears came again, softer as Knockout could finally feel the air in his lungs and the beat of his heart. He was undeniably alive.

In his grief, there was anger.

In his anger, there was love.

In his love, there was Greasestain.

Eternal.

"Wooley will meet you at the edge of camp." Cody released him from his grip and from his punishment. "Go be with your batchmates, they need you as much as you need them."

Knockout got up and never once looked back.

* * *

Thirty minutes

**_Wolffe_ ** _: are you busy?_

 **_Cody_ ** _: Scrubbing_

 **_Wolffe_ ** _: Got it._

An hour and a half

**_Bly_ ** _: Codes, what is the whiskey you made me try that one time?_

 **_Cody_ ** _: Scrubbing_

 **_Bly_ ** _: I'll bug you later then_

Two hours and fifteen minutes

**_Fox_ ** _: When's the next time you'll be on Coruscant?_

 **_Cody_ ** _: Scrubbing_

 **_Fox_ ** _: Sorry to disturb._

Three hours

**_Rex_ ** _: Got done with scrubbing on my end, how are you doing?_

 **_Cody_ ** _: Still scrubbing._

 **_Rex_ ** _: Is anyone helping you?_

**_Cody_ ** _went offline_

Rex was going to kill him via lectures on hypocrisy next time they were together, Cody was sure of it. He could already hear the mocking voice Rex would use saying "you have to trust others' strength" and "you're no good to your men dead." Cody could spin pretty words just as well as he could not take his own advice. He didn't _need_ his own advice, he just needed everyone else to be okay.

Reason why he left scrubbing for himself. Not that it got easier over time, it never did. It was dying over and over again without the promise of actual rest. But thank the _karking Force_ clones had such a _wonderful_ memory. Early into his life as commander, he had scrounged up a few credits (it wasn't stealing if the credits if the senator wouldn't listen to him when he tried to get his attention to alert him that his credit stick had fallen out, Cody just simply "forgot" what the senator looked like. There was a reason Fox was mostly grey and Cody was a key component of that.) and brought a flimsi journal. He tried to write down every gone member of the 212th, name and breastplate design only.

But try as he might, Cody knew that there were some that have slipped through his fingers. Between reports and training and _karking scrubbing_ , there were some that perished on the field and again in his hands as he removed the paint.

Cody didn't lie to Knockout, their place in the galaxy was eternal. But the shiny didn't need to know that it was as eternal as hydrogen atoms.

Always there but hardly seen.

And far too many to count.

Reason why he left scrubbing for himself. Then only one person had to deal with this pain. With being the difference between eternity and forgotten.

Rex was still going to lecture him however. 

  
  


"Commander Cody, care to explain why when I ran into Wooley, they were guiding a crying basically-cadet? Not that-" The words died on Kenobi's lips as he took in the scene. A look of horror and remorse lit his face in the pale lantern light. There was a struggle in his mind, as Cody watched him try and try again to say anything but was left with nothing.

"I am almost done here, sir." A smile as genuine Cody could muster offered Kenobi a way out. Instead, ever-stubborn the jedi was, he sat down and picked up the second brush. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I'm not going to let you do this alone." So final- so trusting- like the last nail hammered into place.

"That's not necessary."

"It is to me." _You are to me_ , Cody swore he could almost hear it in each word. Or at least he hoped as he leaned forward over the lantern to study Kenobi's face.

"You should be getting rest. Are you hiding from Stitches?" He rightfully accused, having hid the general before.

"Are you?" Kenobi rightfully reflected back, having also hid the commander.

"Nothing but the headache." 

"Same here. How about I help you and then you and I get a late latemeal together and mutually force each other to take some medicine?" Kenobi smiled at him, their faces drawn in close, to say they were simply just trying to get a better look would be nearly impossible to believe in the dim light. Still, blue eyes flicked over the tears tracks on his commander's face, and Cody couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed.

"I'm never going to be rid of you, am I?" It was hardly a joke and even less of a question. It was reassurance in a truth of brighter tomorrows. And with confidence, Obi-Wan smiled.

"I'm afraid not, Cody Dear."

**Author's Note:**

> Me: for all the clones that are dying, that's a lot of armor to waste  
> Me:... oh fuck, recycling makes it more painful  
> Me:  
> Me:  
> Me: time to inflict that pain on the world


End file.
